


his pain (his punishment)

by Bookwormswillruletheword, Quecksilver_Eyes



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crying, Edmund hates himself, England - Freeform, Post-LWW, Tears, introspective, post the lion the witch and the wardrobe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9178054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormswillruletheword/pseuds/Bookwormswillruletheword, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: They're back in England, and it's all Edmund's fault.





	

He’s back in that 9 year old body. He’s back in the cold, he’s back, he’s back.  
And the others are too.

  
It must be his fault, must be because of him that they sit on the stone floor, freezing, because of him that Susan’s smile slid off her lips, that Peter’s beard vanished, that Lucy grew into the smallest of bodies.  
This is his punishment, he must've done something again, he must deserve this because what is this but punishment?

  
And he thinks that if he just takes it well enough, if he shows that he understood, if he makes himself worthy again, maybe they can go back.  
Maybe Peter will be high king again, respected and honoured, maybe Susan will be gentle again, because he doesn't recognize this girl his sister has shrunk into, and maybe Lucy will be happy, will be herself again.

  
And he keeps having nightmares of the white witch because she is inside him, she's part of him, she always will be.  
And she whispers to him that his sisters' crying, his brother's agony, Narnia's despair, that all of this is because of him and if he had just understood kingship properly, this would have never happened.

  
She tells him, every night, that he is hers, that he will always be hers.  
And he believes her.   
How can he not, if they're here, small and insignificant, in cold, cloudy, wet England.

  
England, with long winters that he forgot could exist, with cold that creeps under his skin and into his breath and he can never quite explain to their parents why he curls into himself whenever snow falls gently from the sky.  
It’s gentle and cold and hauntingly beautiful, just like her.

  
He sees everyone working to make ends meet, dressing up in school uniforms and going to school to learn things that they already know, bundling up in the cold with clothes that just aren't enough.  
He sees it all, feels it all, and can't forget that it's all because of him.

  
And he’s cold.  
Constantly, even in summer, because this is England, this is punishment, endless repetition, endless condescending words, never really growing up, Narnia just a breath and still a lifetime away, a cupboard, a train station, a painting, always a way to get there, but no means of staying, for this is Narnia but it is not theirs anymore, they are children and they have to leave, time and time again, have to choose to leave their kingdom, their Narnia, their heart and soul. Over and over and over again.

  
It’s his fault.  
It's his fault Peter grows bitter, it's his fault Lucy cries herself to sleep, Lucy who has to live in the smallest of bodies.   
It's his fault Susan forgets.

  
He comes home with bloody knees and a cut lip and waves Peter off.  
It's nothing, he says.  
I deserve it, he thinks.

  
He fights for Peter, because Peter does not deserve to be treated like a child, a power hungry boy.  
Peter is a king.   
He is the traitor.

  
It will always be his fault.

  
He deserves it, because Aslan died for him and nothing will ever lift that weight off his shoulders.   
Because a part of him would always be frozen.  
Because he despises the cold and only his siblings know why.  
Because she tells him he was never enough.  
Because he believes her.  
Because it was always his fault.  
Because he is nothing but a boy, here, where nobody remembers the kings and queens of old.

  
He is the traitor. And Aslan died for him.

  
And perhaps Aslan never did wake up.  
Perhaps he did die.  
And all was nothing but a fantasy.  
For how could he ever be Just when he was a traitor?

  
Because here they were.  
In England.  
England caged him, more than any prison could, when he couldn't go to war, when Susan forgot herself, and Lucy doubted her faith.   
How could this be anything but a traitor's doing?

  
So he steps into the snow, void of a coat, void of a scarf.  
He stands in the cold as it whispers terrible things in his ear.

  
You are nothing.  
You are mine.  
You shan't escape me.   
You are only a child.   
My king, my prince, where will you run?   
I'm inside you.   
I own you.   
Where will you go?

  
I will follow the summer, he says, years later, when he's forbidden to go back, when the accident hasn't happened yet.  
She laughs.

  
This is not about summer.  
This is punishment, my prince.  
This is about you.  
What you allowed to happen.

  
You're still mine.  
Aslan couldn't take your crimes.  
He died, and what for?  
For a traitor.   
A petulant child.

  
Not a king.  
Never a king.  
Always just advisor to the high king, the true king, the Magnificent.  
Because what do your choices lead to but destruction?

  
And her frozen voice laughs as it envelops him, freezes him to the bone.

  
He is king.  
He is Edmund the Just, one of the kings of old, he is a king of Narnia, he shall always be a king of Narnia.  
But when he goes to school again, when he meets the boys he used to play with, he falters and he feels cold, so cold. These cruel boys, who mock others much smaller than them, who play with things that don’t belong to them, they remind him that this is who they are. Who he was. They remind of what he is not anymore.

  
The Just. The title mocks him.  
He falls asleep at night with her words echoing in his ears.  
Traitor.  
The white witch's puppet on strings of ice, fueled by nothing but turkish delight.   
It makes him sick, that turkish delight, his parents never understood why. It sticks to his throat, threatening to choke him.

  
When the accident does happen, he stands before Aslan, and tears burn in his eyes, ice burns in his veins.   
And he finally sees clearly.   
He's in Aslan's country.  
He's welcome.  
He's wanted.

  
And he feels, finally, something begin to change.  
The frozen parts in his soul melt away, in Aslan’s sun.   
The ice melts away into water and blood flowing smoothly in his veins, and with it, she leaves. Finally, finally, she leaves.

  
And when he takes their hands and makes peace with his past, he thinks of Susan, and her lipstick smile, the smile she never lost, the smile she'll wear at their funeral because these are her siblings and she learned to smile through torture.

  
And maybe, he thinks, if he was enough, Susan will be too.  
And in 50, 60 years, he'll see her again, and she will be Gentle and he'll be Just.  
And they will be finally, finally be whole. 


End file.
